


No One Asked You To Dance

by becisvolatile



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Anal, Bucky is basically a stray cat, But why not try anyway?, Coitus Interruptus, Darcy doesn't know how to one-night-stand, Dry Sex, F/M, Frottage, Multi, OT3, Oral Sex, SHIP DARCY WITH ALL THE THINGS, Sex does not fix everything, So many sex things, Vaguely unhealthy actual fuckery, Vaguely unhealthy emotional fuckery, Violence, nor does steve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 12:45:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3729439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becisvolatile/pseuds/becisvolatile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And then there’s you, Lewis, the girl no one asked to dance who took to the floor anyway. You dancing to my song, kid? What do you hear? Can’t seem to figure why I give a damn, why it matters. But, oh sweetheart... it does."</p>
            </blockquote>





	No One Asked You To Dance

**Author's Note:**

> Look! OT3!!! Thanks so much to the lovely aenariasbookshelf for the time and care she took with her beta job on this. Mistakes and dumb shit remain, as always, my own.

It was over before it started. More or less.

Mostly less.

It was wrong anyway. A desperate tumble that Darcy only let herself get caught up in because a) Steve Rogers and b) Steve Rogers.

If she was being truthful (and, hey, by that point in time why not?) it wasn’t all down to him. Sure, she’d been a sucker for the near grim determination that Steve had employed to talk her into his bed, but then she’d been readily seduced.

Plenty of bucket lists featured a one night stand with Captain America. Darcy, however, was nothing if not reasonable. Goals had to be achievable, so her bucket list entry for a one night stand hadn’t narrowed things down to any particular partner.

It was a failing on her part, one of a mounting list. She just wasn’t that specific. It was the reason she was a 25 year old intern schlepping around the world in the company of gods and geniuses. She took what she could get in life and sometimes what she could get far exceeded what she deserved. Case in point: the way Steve dropped his face into her neck as his narrow hips nudged her thighs wide and his cock glanced hot and hard across the soft skin high between her thighs.

_It was wrong anyway._

She wasn’t famed for her powers of perception, but even Darcy could glean that whatever Steve Rogers needed, it wasn’t her. Her stomach roiled with emotion - not lust - a caustic mix of anticipation and regret, the precursor to a really bad fucking time. She crossed ‘one night stand’ off her mental list before he was even inside her, wondering bleakly if he was going to hate her when their dirty, worthless fuck was done.

Would she hate _herself_?

She didn’t blame him, but she did kind of hate him when he reached between their bodies, jammed the thick head of his dick against her and surged upward… all with his face pressed resolutely against her neck. She could have been anyone… and she still wouldn’t have been enough. Still, she ran her fingers up the curve of his spine, tracing paths through the fine sheen of sweat on his skin, sighing in what she hoped was a pleasant way. She wasn’t into it. Wasn’t even particularly wet.

Later, she’d decide that her miserable distraction was for the best, because otherwise she might never have noticed the dark eyed man gripping the frame of the open door to Steve’s bedroom and regarding them quiet and profound agitation.

Darcy’s eyes matched with the dark interloper’s and for a few awful moments she let herself feel the pull of his panic, let herself grieve for whatever had brought him to that point, that place. His nostrils flared, greasy hanks of hair snaked out of the sides of a faded black hoodie. Sallow skin and dated, dirty black jeans and sneakers tugged at something in Darcy and she wondered if she had a spare twenty dollars in her purse to give him… ridiculous, considering the situation.

She was jolted - literally - from the lock of his gaze as Steve’s hips firmly bucked against hers. Her nails dug into the tawny skin of his shoulder, then dragged around until she could press her fingertips up against his chest, urging him up, off, trying desperately to shift his attention. He regarded her flushed face with concern, eyebrows snapping together and she realised that it was the first time that he’d looked at her face since they’d fallen into bed. Seconds passed before he tracked the direction of her eyes, the tendons of his neck dancing and lengthening until he froze.

Steve’s breath came out in a rush, a wordless noise tearing from his throat as he jumped up with preternatural speed. A shock of air hit Darcy’s front and she was left to press her hand between her legs, part modesty, part surprise at the shocking absence of Steve inside of her.

Steve’s propulsion stopped abruptly, just feet shy of the man in the doorway. The muscled divot at the side of his left ass cheek jumped with agitation while one hand slipped to his front, presumably to cup his cock, while the other reached for the stranger.

They didn’t quite touch, something in those dark broken eyes stilled Steve’s hand and there they were frozen for awful, breathless seconds. Darcy disturbed the moment by rolling from the bed and groping around clumsily for her clothes, the cold timber floor sent shocks up her feet and calves.

It occurred to her all too late that the man at the door was not the interloper there, she was.

 

* * *

 

If there was ever a time that Steve wanted to be struck down by raging alien beasts, that night was it.

Bucky’s timing, as ever, had been impeccable. Sam, Nat and a nigh-endless parade of shrinks had told him that if he refused to let Bucky be taken into protective custody then he was going to have to weather the danger and unpredictable interludes.

And he did, he _was_. Gladly. Sure, it wasn’t working out as well or as quickly as he’d liked. But Bucky _was_ coming good, by degrees. Steve offered a home, a safe place to land when he needed it. It had been six months but now Bucky’s appearances had become regular, no longer violent.

So there he’d been, his sofa not yet cold from Bucky’s most recent stay and an invite to an intimate gathering of Stark’s nearest and dearest, more than a hundred heads by his count. And there was a girl stuffing mini-spring rolls into her mouth while following the tiny Dr Foster around and saving her from thinly-veiled aggression under the guise of polite chit chat. Little Darcy Lewis had been fearless in the defence of her socially graceless boss, she dealt with people with an innate sense of mild humour that both disarmed and charmed. It was a skill that had taken him years to learn with the USO and there she stood wielding it more effectively than he’d ever handled his shield. Pepper had a similar skill, but hers was potent, obvious. With Pepper people knew they were being dealt with. With Lewis they laid down at her feet and offered up their soft underbellies for a rub.

He’d grinned through a couple bottles of imported beer as he had stalked her through the dinner party, secured himself a seat next to her and… been floored.

The idea to take her home had come from nowhere and been backed only by his own selfish need to work out where, exactly, the warm scent of carnation and cinnamon was coming from. Determination had beaten out his common sense and it hadn’t been until he’d pressed her naked body down into his bedding that he realised how wrong the whole thing was. No way to treat a lady - not the sex, that was _exactly_ how he liked to treat a lady - but the lack or words, the urgency, the need in him that she couldn’t possibly understand. He’d wanted to take from her all the things he’d been lacking in the past months and… well, karma had rounded out the evening nicely.

Steve hopped a little as he stepped out onto the pavement outside his place. His thin track pants and hoodie had been pulled on hastily over bare skin. He wasn’t hard anymore, a small mercy given the way the track pants moulded to him, but he still _ached_. His feet had been stuffed sockless into runners and he made short work of the two blocks between his apartment and the all-night diner that he’d gruffly commanded Darcy to flee to. Bucky had bunked out, again, stopping only to grab one of his growing collection of bug-out bags and Steve had known better than to follow.

What was he going to say? _C’mon, Buck, I was too busy tryin’ to slip it to this gal I just met…_

_Christ_. He passed a hand over his face, trying to scrub some of his mental fatigue away as he let himself into the diner.

He wasn’t surprised to find that she hadn’t followed his barked order to wait for him, but he was disappointed. For the best, probably, he decided as he slid himself into a booth and waited for the young waiter to sling a cup of tepid coffee down in front of him. He’d thought he was in the clear to indulge in the smell of her, to take in sound of her laugh - Bucky had never shown twice in a week. It just proved what an idiot he was. His little indulgence had left him sitting alone in the diner at one in the morning, the smell of her hitting him every time he shifted - he’d been _inside_ her, so damn close.  And that laughter that he’d wanted? It was a little thin on the ground.

It had been selfish to even ask her to come and wait for him. What had he planned to do? Finish up? He wanted to… what? Explain? _Explain Bucky_? How could he? Bucky remained the ghost he’d always been as a matter of course, letting a woman that he’d only known for _hours_ have that intel was the height of stupidity.

…And he’d already been stupid enough for a single night.

 

* * *

 

“Where are your glasses? Why are you wearing your old ones? I thought you hated those. You said they were too ‘Taylor Swift’.” Occasionally Jane would rise from the fog of her own genius to notice some obscure detail about Darcy and she’d be reminded that she was, in a round-about way, loved.

The answer, of course, wasn’t worth giving. She was wearing her tween-as-fuck old glasses because her new ones were, presumably, still folded neatly on Captain America’s bedside table. She’d been halfway home in a cab, eyes too misty from unshed tears to even really notice, when she’d realised that she’d left them behind.

Her glasses _and_ her dignity. If she wasn’t still sulking about the whole episode she might have joked that they were worthy collateral in the quest to see Steve Rogers naked. But she was still sulking - and hurting - so jokes weren’t on the horizon.

Darcy grumpily dumped her backpack by her desk, but didn’t bother to unwind her scarf or shuck her jacket, she had every intention of heading back down into the foyer of Stark’s phallic eyesore and hitting up the coffee cart. “The usual?” She called out, both for Jane and Bruce’s benefit.

Jane didn’t answer, instead she crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at Darcy. It was a helluva time for Jane to get with the program and pick up on Darcy’s shitty mood. Bruce pushed away from his desk, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Actually, Darcy, there’s just one thing…” he stood and looked toward Jane, who also looked vaguely discomforted. “Probably should have mentioned it sooner…”

“Mentioned what?

“My new intern arrives today,” Bruce supplied with a small, uneasy smile.

“Great,” Darcy said, her voice conveying little excitement, “I’ll get four coffees.”

“Just one other thing,” Bruce was examining his cuticles with a sort of focus that didn’t bode well. “It’s uh, Jane tells me that he’s your former… intern?”

“Also boyfriend,” Jane supplied.

“Ian. Ian the intern? Ian with the borderline foot fetish? Why would anyone hire Ian?” But Darcy knew why. Of course she did.

“You tell me, you hired him first.” Bruce really wasn’t getting onboard with her ‘Monday Mental Anguish’ theme.

“Because he has excellent references and a Mensa-worthy intellect,” she admitted sullenly. “Damn, hoist by my own petard.”

“C’mon, Darcy.” Jane’s slight hand was surprisingly strong as she gripped her by the elbow and steered her from the lab, “Caffeine’ll cure what ails you. And we can talk.”

Darcy wasn’t able to curb the feeling that she was about to be found out like a toddler stashing grubby worms in her pocket.

 

* * *

 

Natasha pinned the uniformed officer with a hard stare. “And that’s where you lost him? After the deli?”

The bulky blond’s eyes rolled around as though he were considering making up a lie just to please her. _Anything_ to please her.

Natasha stepped back with a grunt of disgust. Another dead end. She’d thought she’d been onto something when he’d painted up on a series of CCTV feeds. It had been a promising lead, all locations within blocks of Steve’s apartment. Of course, Steve had been where she’d hit her hardest wall. If he’d seen Bucky on saturday night, he sure as hell wasn’t talking about it and while Natasha had done her best to leave it be, things were getting to a critical point. Steve was being _hurt_ by Bucky’s stagnation. It was time for an intervention. Action. _Anything_.

 

* * *

 

It was, given the way her day had played out, exactly the sort of ending she should have expected. The elevator was out and Darcy had schlepped it up ten flights of stairs, a soggy grocery bag threatening to disintegrate under one arm while her other cradled two bottles of missing-label mystery wine against her hip. That wasn’t even the shitty bit. The shitty part was when she’d come to a halt, sweaty and overburdened, outside of her apartment only to spy that her front door was ajar. For a brief second she’d considered just taking her wine back outside and setting up on the sidewalk. It would have been the smart thing to do… but then why break the habit of stupidity that she’d been cultivating so nicely since talking herself into Steve’s bed?

She set down her groceries and backpack, stooping to retrieve her taser as she moved. Darcy tried to talk herself down as she prepared to toe open her door, tried to tell herself that she’d just failed to lock up properly that morning. Like that was something she’d ever do.

The element of surprise was completely lost as her safety chain swung and rattled with the movement of the door, but then she took note of the figure riffling through her kitchen drawer and realised that she’d never even _had_ the element of surprise.

The guy. _That guy_. The one from Steve’s place acknowledged her only with a cursory flick of the eyes, a flash perusal from beneath grubby strands of hair, as he shuffled through the various detritus of her ‘admin’ drawer. He threw aside a hardcopy of her lease, takeaway menus, out of date coupons and spent batteries before pausing to inspect her passport.

“Lewis. 25. National. Extensive travel…” he muttered to himself as the thumbed through it, then tossed it aside. His voice was raw, quiet. Darcy felt thirsty just listening to him.

The next thing he produced from the drawer was an expired prescription for birth control. He narrowed his eyes at it. A firm nod. Whatever the hell that meant.

“Dude?” Darcy ventured nervously, taser still poised in her hand. This time he didn’t even look up from his search. Instead she had time to take in his weathered black jeans and faded, unwashed hoodie - the same ones that he’d been wearing two nights prior - they hung on his frame suggesting they’d been picked up at a thrift store, or that he’d lost a significant amount of weight. Somehow, she felt like it could be both of those things. His skin had a sickly pallor, his eyes were ringed with dark smudges and his shoulders drooped with an unseen weight, more so on one side. Was he hurt? His black leather gloves were good quality and not out of place given the weather outside… but then why was there no jacket lying around her apartment? Had he taken it off to break in?

Was she really getting hung up on whether or not her home-intruder was going to get cold outside?

“What are you looking for?” Darcy asked as she very deliberately kept the kitchen island between them.

“Answers,” he spoke again in that coarse low voice, then slammed the drawer and pinned her with dark eyes as he pressed his lips together.

“Ab-about me?”

“Steve.” Fair enough, because why would he care about her?

“You… know Steve?”

“Do you?” He began to move from the kitchen to where she was standing and she danced a little clumsily on her feet, unsure about where to go.

“Only carnally.” Because where was the sense in lying?

Surely she only imagined his lips twisting into that grim parody of a smile as he stepped up to her, crowded her space. Swamped her with heat and the smell of stale sweat and city. She _far_ preferred it when the contents of the drawer had been the most interesting thing in her apartment.

There was a relentless sort of misery about him, something ugly about the way his breath seemed stilted as he regarded her, about the press of his suddenly bloodless lips as he turned his muddy eyes onto her. The way he looked at her… shit. She’d say it was like being pulled apart, undressed. But then this guy had already caught her with her pants down.

Darcy thrust her chin out and pointedly stuffed her taser away in her pocket. His jaw eased and just a hint of colour bled back into his lips. “Look, dude, I got twenty bucks. It’s yours. It’ll buy you a couple meals but I’m going to need you to _leave_.”

His brows snapped together as he took a few clumsy steps backward, she’d caught him off guard. Clearly her offer had been unexpected, maybe he’d been expected threats? Hell, she _should_ have threatened him. Dropped Thor’s name, told him she’d already called the police… anything but offer him cash.

“I look like I need money?” Again, that rough, dry voice only this time it held a hint of incredulity.

She felt almost rude as she shrugged and reluctantly admitted, “Well, _yeah_ , man. You need a shower and probably a half-dozen cheeseburgers. No booze though.” It didn’t _smell_ like that was his problem, but it couldn’t hurt to throw it in anyway.

“Keep your money,” he growled as he stalked toward her front door, “But do me a favour and don’t tell Rogers you saw me.”

Frankly, Darcy would have agreed to publicly announce that she routinely saw unicorns to get him out of her place, but instead she just gave a jerky nod. “Couldn’t if I wanted to. Didn’t get his number.”

He turned in the doorway at that, stopped to regard her with narrowed eyes. Darcy could have sworn that his eyes had caught where her bulky cardigan _almost_ hid the swell of her chest and sighed.

“ _Stupid friggin’ punk_ ,” he muttered as he stepped into the corridor, shutting her front door behind himself.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter title taken from The Dø's 'Opposite Ways'...


End file.
